


Say Something ( I'm Giving Up on You )

by kangelique



Series: The Captain Swan Playlist [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: "If it can be broken it means it still works", "So when i win your heart Emma it will be because you want me", "There's not a day that'll go by that i wont think of you", (Hell yes love that quote), Both point of views, Deleted Scene, Emma is still in denial, F/M, Flashback, Gen, Killian and Henry time, Killian just has the BEST love quotes, Love Letters, Promises, missing year stuff, season 3 episode 16 too, season 3 episode 17 inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: Henry discovers the letters Killian wrote to Emma during the missing year in an attempt to divulge of his longing for his Swan.





	Say Something ( I'm Giving Up on You )

**Author's Note:**

> Guyyyyys, so it's hard and not hard to write love letters, but I'll let you all be the judge of that.  
> I'm sure most of you have heard this song before and when i went back to hear it and get some inspiration for this one shot, for some reason the idea to have Killian write her love letters just hit me (and okay, I did want an excuse for him to express his love, i needed it more on the show) so yeah, I truly did like the outcome though

Say **Something ( I'm Giving Up on You ) :**

 

_Killian tossed and turned in his bed, clenching his eyes shut and willing his mind to sleep. Rather than be plagued by the same nightmares of his lost love -nightmares that had become a daily occurrence in the years he'd sought vengeance, welcoming even as a fuel to his one and only purpose despite the pain brought forth by remembering, the despair in the aftermath as the precious ashes of her crushed heart were swept away by a careless wind- he was haunted by memories tonight. Memories that did not belong to his former life, instead they were rich little moments that consisted of deep pools of emerald, hair the color of sunlight, and a voice that was built of walls and abandonment and a hurt he wanted to soothe and - "Swan..."_

 

_He growled and his foot lashed out in frustation, knocking a pillow over the side and finally springing upright, all previous effort was relinquished in the wake of his soft rocking quarter and moonlight streaming through the window. He ran a hand through his hair and then down his face, fingers lingering at his lips and sucking in a breath as if he could still feel her kiss._

 

_Killian swore he still could. Everything. From the momentary hesitation to the mouths that gave in, creamy hands that gripped and pulled and held on to the lapels of his coat, and to the tongues that clashed, teeth that almost grazed, bodies that followed and stumbled in their impatience to saturate their desire, the small quick moans that escaped in between, fingers that buried in hair, and the heavy panting that betrayed the acceleration of two broken hearts._

 

_"Bloody hell." He shook his head like he'd done back in that loathsome island, but he had no intention of forgetting. Not this. Not anything about his Swan. He clung to that feeling harder, begging it to stay, ingraining it further, allowing it to fester into something other than just lust._

 

_The waves crashed and lapped gently against the ship, and for a moment Killian simply listened. His eyes closed to the familiar sound, the smell of salty air infiltrating his nose and reminding him that he was long ways from Storybrooke -world's away. What had once been the comfort to the havoc of his demons now served as the calm for the memories of a beautiful siren he could not have, could only yearn for._

 

"There's not a day that'll go by that I won't think of you."

 

"Good."

 

_Killian sighed with the now frequent pangs of not feeling the same, adrift in the return to a life that could no longer quell the void._

 

_"Anywhere, Swan," he whispered. "I would have followed you."_

 

_Eventually he grew restless and so he turned and swung his legs over the side, landing steadily on his feet. The wooden floorboards creaked slightly in the silence that accompanied his decision, and as he reached out with his good hand to open the drawer, Killian knew his release needed to come out somehow. Every thought that ended and started with her, every word left unspoken in their bittersweet goodbye, it needed to be said for his own sanity, and that only made his search for the quill even more hurried._

 

_Once he'd gotten a firm grasp on it, he took out a single sheet of paper from the stockpile and headed to the table that at times still felt like there were two ghosts sitting in their seats -somehow more so when he'd met Emma. The Captain and the Lieutenant drinking tea together, reviewing naval readings and charting down courses, and every good part of himself coming out in glimpses ever since she'd held a knife to his throat and demanded to know who he was._

 

_So with the tip of the quill coated in ink, Killian took a breath and began:_

 

_"My Dearest Swan..."_

 

*******

 

"What's this?"

 

"That, my boy, is a sextant. It's a tool used by sailors to navigate. "

 

"Like a GPS?"

 

His mind went blank. Bloody hell was a... "Aye! It measures our position using the stars."

 

"Not sure that's how a GPS works but -Hey, I think you dropped something." Henry bent down to pick up the said something at the same time Killian's hand flew alarmingly to his waistcoat's pocket and found it...empty.

 

His heart rate commenced its race up, watching how Henry straightened up and swallowing thickly when he saw that it was indeed his heart and soul tied together by a mere string. 

 

For a second he thought the lad would just hand it over without inquiry, but then he saw his fingers brushing away the sand from the top of the stack and  _Emma_ appeared in his neat cursive calligraphy, and it was too late.

 

"Woah," Henry's head snapped up, curiosity and suspicion filtering his voice and eyes and all. "Why do you have my mom's name on here, why were you writing to her?"

 

His heart thumped just at the sight of her name, and his jaw clenched involuntarily. How to explain this...should he lie? Should he deny they were his even if every word, every sentence, every paragraph, had been produced by the depths of his longing?

 

"That's part of a long story, I'm afraid." Killian scratched behind his ear. "Something to do with the case your mother's working on."

 

It sounds false even to his own ears. Inside there was a truth that Henry wasn't ready for. Neither was Emma. Perhaps not even Killian himself when it truly came down to the missing year and how adrift he'd felt. Maybe if he'd been more careful, maybe if he hadn't been carrying them around this whole time, maybe if he hadn't written them at all, knowing they contained the promise he'd whispered, then maybe he could come up with a better lie. But what's done is done. And he cannot regret his vow, however painful it had been to remember that in his love's mind he was all but forgotten. The kiss they'd shared nonexistent.

 

"Fine, then you won't mind if I read it."

 

Henry spun around and Killian instantly panicked, "No, no, wait!" but already the string had been flung to the ground. Suddenly there was a mumbled "Crap" and the letters were unleashed into the air with a surprising burst as Henry stumbled and tried to regain his footing over the rocks. Killian rushed to gather them up as they landed at his feet, scattered about the sand and all bearing  _Emma_ in the same elegant blue ink, but he froze at Henry's reading out loud.

 

" _My Dearest Swan, tonight I find myself at an impasse, for I cannot sleep and you are to blame. I blame you in the best of ways since, despite my fears, I am no longer tormented by the same nightmare. Rather I am brought to a different standstill- one that has me sighing your name past my lips and wishing to feel your touch at the nape of my neck again,"_ Henry wrinkled his nose. " _drowning in the hope your small smile bestowed upon me._

 

_"Before I separated from the group, Dave and the Lady Snow approached me, asking if this was it, if this was I giving up now that you were gone, and to tell you the truth, love, I wasn't sure. All I knew for certain was that I was no longer just a pirate. Following you amidst your own dark terrain in Neverland, I was reminded of someone thought to be long buried deep with my brother, in a past filled with temporary brighter days. Someone who'd listened to more than the thirst for vengeance in his heart. And I will swallow my pride a thousand times, to admit right here that it is you, with your walls and the beautiful roll of your eyes, that has opened up a window where the sunlight had once refused to come in._

 

_" What have you done to me, Emma? Because it is not just your beauty and your resilience that has shaken me to my very core, it is everything that goes beyond an ordinary man's comprehension. It is all that you keep hidden because so many did not know how to value such a woman's trust. But darling, I too have felt terrible pain, have stumbled among the clutches of deceit and disappointments that cost me greatly. Almost cost me myself, and for a very long time I was a prisoner to that wretched ache._

 

_"I can understand that your intention was not to set me free, if only for a moment, but regardless you did, so believe me when I say that I cannot return to my former life as easily as you slipped from my fingertips. It's a fool's errand to even try, and it is safe to say that I can't. I won't. You've changed me, Emma Swan. You've done what nobody else could. You created a fire in the tempest, and when will you realize how powerful you are, how magnificent? Bringing a dead man back to life with just your essence._

 

_"It is that very thing, all that you have revealed to me like an open book -the book I don't want to stop reading, no matter the goodbye- and all that you were yet to share, that keeps my promise burning. A promise that softened your gaze and sparked an alarm in your emeralds. I dream of seeing your face once more, for the blur of memories and detailed sketches aren't enough. I need to see it all again. The apple of your cheeks, the perfect arch of your eyebrows, the forest in your eyes, and those lips...Hell, I wish you'd realize how speechless you make me. Even now, with nothing but the mere thought of you to inspire my wakeful state and have it prolong for hours on end._

 

_"My Swan, I need you to know this is no trickery. I so crave to win your heart, Emma. I'll be the one if you want me to. But only if you want me too. I want you. So in spite of a curse that has taken you far away, I still hold my promise, and if possible, my feelings have managed to only grow. If paper is the only way to divulge of missing you, then I will make sure the ink never runs dry."_

 

_"For another three hundred years, If that's what I must. I will wait."_

 

There was a silence that hung over them afterwards, awkward and stretching on horribly long. Killian was also blushing furiously, and never had he felt more grateful for the cover of the darkness than he did right now with the terribly familiar rush of a burning sensation that broke across his cheeks and reached the tip of his ears without a warning. Henry, for the most part, looked utterly shocked, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyebrows pushed together as if he still couldn't quite believe the sorrows and fears he'd just read, but Killian could. Oh he could and there were eleven more letters to prove that so.

 

"Are these from my dad?"

 

"Yes, I'm in-"  _love with her_ died on the tip of his tongue. That wasn't what he'd expected. Suddenly he was clutching the remainder of his letters protectively against his chest, and what could he say? He said the one thing that would and would not complicate matters further. "Aye, your father asked me to write them to her on his behalf some months ago. I've yet to deliver."

 

"So when are you going to, I mean -I don't know much about the guy, but from here it sounds like he really loves her. Or did, whatever. I just want to be sure this isn't going to hurt her more, you know? Specially after the break-up with Walsh, this all just seems seriously..." Henry sighed. "I just want her to be happy, Killian. She deserves it."

 

Killian nodded with a deep solemnity of understanding and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know, lad." In the end, he wanted no less for his Swan -even if he was selfish and craved for her to find that happiness with him instead.

 

"Okay, so I'm trusting you. Maybe with this she can have some sort of closure and we can finally go back to New York." Killian bristled at the thought of their leaving as Henry handed him the letter back, because he, like Emma, did not want to stay in this town. Did not see a future here. Except he'd had this conversation with Emma before, and she was simply scared. She was opposed to it so fiercely, it was easy to see the lost girl in the woman who'd never truly found a home, and was now hesitant to have this be real. "Although I don't know how she'll react to it being so ooey-gooey. For some reason I imagined my dad a bit less  _that_ with his words, but that's just me. Sick grammar, by the way."

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

Henry chuckled. "Your spelling," he clarified. "There were no errors, I double-checked. Impressive."

 

Killian felt a sense of pride bloom at Emma's son's admiration, and he ducked his head to scratch behind his ear and retrieve the string. "Well I would hope so, what with the strict Naval expectations..." he mumbled.

 

"You were in the Navy?" Henry asked in small awe, brown eyes - _Baelfire's eyes-_ betraying his intrigue. "What was that like?"

 

He quickly glanced up at the sky. "Perhaps that can be a tale for another time, Henry. It's getting late, I'm meant to be returning you to your mother now."

 

"Fine, she's probably gonna pawn me off to you tomorrow anyway."

 

"Oi! You don't truly abhor spending time with me, do you?"

 

"No," Henry smirked. "But don't tell David and Mary Margaret I said that."

 

Killian winked. "Your secret's safe with me."

 

*******

 

"Dinner at Granny's?"

 

"Yeah!" came the round of chorus of agreements inside the loft. Emma just smiled, feeling light and actually  _good_ for the first time since she'd returned to Storybrooke. She supposed nearly dying did that to you, but really it was Henry and her dad clinking their glasses of soda together, and her mom watching them with a happy grin on her face, and Regina walking over to join them at the counter, that somehow made Emma feel more relaxed that she'd managed to be in the last two days trying to find a way to stop yet  _another_ villain from destroying the town.

 

"Well I guess I'll leave you guys to it."

 

He'd been acting weird the minute she opened the door and then entered into the small living space, fidgeting -nervously?- on his feet as he stood back and saw the interaction with Henry and the Charmings, something about David also having a reckless, carefree,  _fun_ side that was said pointedly in Emma's direction. She almost laughed at David's competitive streak against an oblivious Hook who had no idea that her son very much preferred his company over his grandpa's.

 

She noticed how distracted he was, the smiles he tried to give that didn't quite reach his eyes or the corners of his mouth, and how his prosthetic wooden hand kept tapping on his left waistcoat pocket, and his mind just appeared to be...elsewhere.

 

She remembered what Henry had said when he stepped forward to hug her in greeting - _"Hey kid, how was your day?" "Ask Killian about the letters from my dad."_ -and her brows furrowed.

 

"Killian, wait." He turned around when she caught up to him at the door, already past the threshold, and  _why is he so down?_ "You're not coming?" The truth was deep down she kind of wanted him to. She wanted to hear his stupid little jokes that always made her roll her eyes or counter back with some sarcastic remark, always pretending to be annoyed. She wanted to see that damn smirk that just did  _things_ to her. Things she didn't want to put a name on because then she'd have to admit she cared- more than cared.

 

"Another time, perhaps." He nodded as if that was that and again, he seemed burdened by something. Emma briefly mused how this might be what it feels like to be on the receiving end of her responses. Now she feels bad, but really she's been feeling bad about how she treats him ever since she made that jab about his hook while on their trek to the Wicked Witch's farmhouse. Now she just wants him to talk to her.

 

"Okay so...Henry mentioned something about letters when he came in. From his dad, from  _Neal?_ Do you know what he's talking about, what letters?" She's intrigued about that, of course, but she's more worried about him not being his usual cocky and humorous self so she searches his face attentively. Sees how it changes to a kind of sadness, and not strangely, she wants to uncross her arms and leave her leaning against the frame to step forward into the hallway and give them privacy, tell him that whatever it is, he can trust her.

 

He visibly stiffens in front of her, wincing at the word 'letters', and sighs quietly. Emma's more confused, trying to understand the sagging of his shoulders, the exhaustion that has suddenly appeared in his handsome features, as if he's just arrived from a long fighting struggle and there's no strength left to help him hide it.

 

"Aye, love," he whispers, soft and low, and that's all she needs to confirm that this is something personal to him. That and the way his jaw keeps clenching. "but it's not what you think."

 

"And what do I think, Hook?"  _I think you should be honest with me._

 

"I lied to your boy, Swan," he admits and fails to look her in the eye. When she only waits -everyone else background noise to his quiet confession- he hesitantly meets her eyes. She's surprised by what she sees: a tormented blue. "The lad discovered some letters I had tucked away whilst at the beach. They fell out of my pocket, and he read one of them out loud. In an attempt to still keep him in the shadow about the real hazard in Storybrooke, I told him it had something to do with the case you're working on. He then preceded to ask me if they were from his father. From Neal," he said almost sadly. "And I agreed."

 

Emma nods and breathes in, her arms unconsciously tightening as if she can protect her heart from caring about him more. "So whose letters were they?" But she already knows the answer. She can see it in just his stance because she can read him as easy as he can her. It's just that she needs facts, hard concrete facts. That's Emma Swan, looking for proof even though his expression reveals it all, feeling yet another brick fall from her wall in his presence.

 

"Mine."

 

She's silent, she doesn't know what to say. Or she does, but she's afraid if she says something, anything, it will unveil how much this affects her. "To who? Some sweetheart back in the Enchanted Forest?" It's cruel. It's mean. It's mocking, and she knows it. Not for the first time does she see pain flicker through his gaze and disappear almost as fast. Emma wants to say she's sorry. Sorry that her feelings for him come out in this really ugly way.

 

"You're wrong, love. There was nothing back for me in the Enchanted Forest," he whispers, and it's true. He's only ever been sincere with her.

 

Emma clears her throat. "So you wrote to me. Hook... _Killian,_ where...where are the letters?" Because maybe she wants to read them. Maybe a part of her...a part of her just...

 

"Don't worry, Swan, Henry won't see them again. I trust that you will find an excuse to steer him away," He nods beyond her shoulder and then takes a step toward the stairs. "I simply came to return the lad home safe, and now that he is...Goodnight, Emma. Enjoy your dinner, love." He gives her a small, genuine smile, and despite how there's still hurt evident on the surface, it's real and it's for her.

 

"Okay, thank you, but hey," She crosses the threshold and he spins back around to face her. There is still distance between them, distance that both of them have placed, but the air is charged with connection and a relief that comes after you've opened up to someone. She's learned they don't need words for that. "Whatever happened this past year, whatever you're not telling me, I don't care. I'm tired of living in the past."

 

"I know how you feel."

 

He turns and goes down the stairs then. Emma stands there for a minute, hearing his footsteps get farther and farther away from her, and it only takes a second to decide she's not done.

 

She glances quickly over her shoulder and finds the four of them still chattering at the counter. Regina turns and catches her eye, a question there. Emma just sets her lips in a tight line, heavy confliction coursing through her body, but something pulls her down the stairs and she doesn't think about how fast she's going, what this means, how smooth the black railing is under the sliding of her palm. She only knows that she's not done, and she doesn't know why, but when she rounds the corner of the Bed & Breakfast, and gets a flash of white to her right, she stops to see Hook's hastily retreating figure across the small space of Granny's dinner. The tinkle of the bell signaling his exit into the darkness of the night.

 

Curiously, Emma approaches the garbage can and peers inside. Between crumpled up napkins and drained up soda cups, she realizes what that flash of white was and reaches an arm in ever so carefully to pull out the stack of letters that is buried under a mountain of leftovers. They're all tied together by a string, and even though there are ketchup stains and mustard splats already on the cover and back and edges, she can still clearly read her name in his stupid perfect cursive handwriting. 

 

For a moment, Emma just caresses the letters in blue. She's entranced by how beautiful he's made it, and it's as if she can  _feel_ the precision, the concentration, the  _meaningfulness,_ he's put into simply writing her name on a piece of paper, like even that should be handled with the utmost caution. Utmost care. Her own scratchy handwriting could never compare.

 

She counts twelve letters in total, and when she doesn't see or hear any of her family members coming down the stairs, she picks one letter at random and leans against the wall. Emma doesn't know what to expect, how much of an invasion of privacy this is too, but when has she ever been prepared for the force to be reckoned with that is Killian Jones in all his actions and words?

 

_"My darling Emma_ ," Something inside her flutters and twirls and trips at that phrasing, and she can't explain why. Here it seems more intimate to be in his thoughts, and she feels some of her defenses fall to the smile that appears on her face without permission. " _as I've made a habit of stating in my previous letters, I miss you. You are not far from the consumption of my thoughts, and everyday I find that my longing for you only intensifies. This is something altogether foreign, how you've managed to become both my ail and my healing. It is as if your magic has silently been nursing these old wounds, and though I am grateful for the stitches, I remain vexed for who I am without the pain._ _See I have lived with the pain for so long, I almost can't remember who I am underneath the disguise of a merciless captain._

 

_"With you, there is no need to wonder what it is to be a man of honor, a man of good, because it comes so naturally, like all along it was waiting for someone like you to restore those parts of myself I've fought so hard to forget. That is not to say that my demons don't still feed me lies, don't still poke and prod, and question whether I've truly found a kindred spirit or are we just two unfortunate souls that have felt too much and lived too long? Perhaps we are._

 

_"And perhaps I am new to this sort of profound affection, for forgive me because I will stumble and fall on my way to growing into someone worthy of your smile, of your touch, and of your carefree laughter that I was still yet to hear. How I wonder what that might sound like, what it might feel like to have the caresses of a woman that is built up of walls I don't mind spending the rest of my life climbing. I'm still learning to love, just starting to crawl, because with you, Emma Swan, it somehow feels like the first time. Maybe not even the first time, maybe it is just this place where my heart has no memory of being broken, simply because I met you, simply because you reminded me of who I could be._

 

_"You brought light to my darkness, and possibly I don't have that much light to give, but if you would, if you would let me, I would take your hand and we would find the light together. For once I do not say shy from the light, for now I have fallen in love in color, and what a breath of air that is, to see the world so differently in the silence of my solitude._

 

_"I keep up appearances, but the truth is much has changed, much demons and ghosts remain at bay because now there is an angel- a swan- that stops them from reaching me. And though you never meant to calm the storm and clear the skies, nonetheless you have saved a man that didn't know he needed saving. Or maybe he did, and he was too a fool, too a coward, to see how the leaves of Autumn could change and how the heart could mend and how the wind could bring chills of a new beginning he was too afraid to start._

 

_"I constantly wonder if you're safe, if you're happy, if you and Henry have moved on from this life you're cursed to never know. Cursed to never know me. I don't know what is worse, to know or not to know, to remember the series of moments that steal my sleep at night, so desperate am I to hear you say something. I whisper say something because I can't say goodbye, I can't have that be the end. I'm not giving up._

 

_"You are a thunderstorm wrapped in beautiful flesh, sweetheart, and trust me when I say that I believe I've also been looking to be felt and understood the way you have. That is why I hold onto the hope that we will see each other again and when we do, we will say something. But for now and the next, I'm not giving up on you."_

 

Emma expels a shaky breath. "Damn it, Killian." She was torn, she was-

 

"You okay, Emma?" Ruby asks suddenly, and her head snaps up. The brunette is standing in front of her, having seemingly materialized out of nowhere like the subtle wolf she is, and Emma immediately folds the paper in half and clears her throat. It poorly masks the emotion his words have evoked when she nods distractedly and mumbles a barely there, "Yeah, yeah."

 

But she's feeling so small, and can't for a second understand what has made Hook love her like this. How can he? When all she's done is push him away. 

 

Later she will look back on the dates of each letter. Twelve letters for twelve months. A year of spilling his guts out, and a year of her not knowing at all. 

 

"Oh my god," Emma sighs. "Are we just over our heads?" she whispers and there it is, for the first time, this is her admitting it out loud.

 

She's missed him. And maybe a little more than that.

 

Maybe so much more than that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -I actually searched up "Love letters in the 18th century" to guide me on how Killian would write, what do you think? Did I get the love, the change, the feelings, right? If you have a spare moment to tell me, I'd love to hear what you thought!
> 
> \- Thanks for reading!


End file.
